


a dream i once had

by kpears



Category: 30歳まで童貞だと魔法使いになれるらしい | Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?! (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, i’ll probably add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kpears/pseuds/kpears
Summary: Adachi returns to his late dad’s beachside apartment, after many long years in the city, determined for some peace from his mind-reading ability and to stop the ever growing loneliness eating away at him.The last thing he expected was to see the man from accidental polaroid he took seven years ago, the man who hasn’t left his mind for years. And he definitely doesn’t expect for him to remember who he was.
Relationships: Adachi Kiyoshi/Kurosawa Yuichi
Comments: 35
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

Adachi quickly learnt two things after receiving his mind reading ability.

  1. People were _noisy._



With the constant flow of people’s consciouses in his mind, even without directly touching them, all it took was an overly crowded train or his alarm not work and him being forced into getting to work in his worst nightmare: _rush-hour_ , for his head to be stuffed with meaningless thought drabble or bizarre fantasies that Adachi could have really done without.

As someone with very little close friends, going from just small voices in his work place and the odd drone from tv from the apartment next to his, to a constant white noise of thoughts, was, just simply, exhausting. It was like he couldn’t get anywhere except the safety of his own apartment without his head being full of _noise._

He thought it would get better after a few weeks of this new ‘virgin wizardry’, while he got used to the idea that walking past someone would means he got a quick rush of muffled thoughts. But if anything, it got worse, and his already low desire to leave the safe abode of his bed got even lower – and before he knew it, he was calling in sick every other day of week just to avoid having to have any sort of human contact.

It was miserable, and Adachi felt more miserable than he had in a long while.

  1. Adachi was lonely.



Never having been in a relationship never really posed as an issue for Adachi, until he gained his ability. He’d never really thought about it. Sure, in the past, he’d thought about girls who he found mildly attractive, but he’d never had the urge to date them: and it’s not like his introverted self would have the courage to ask them out anyways.

And, for the most part, he felt content with that. But when he’d been woefully reminded about his lack of relationships thanks to a strange legend from his co-worker – it had suddenly hit him that he’d been spending the last seven years living on auto-piolet, doing the same drab actions day in and day out.

Before, he’d felt fine with it – he had Tsuge, he had his dad who’d he’d visit every year, give or take, and never having been a people person he’d never wanted anything more than that.

But then when his dad passed, and Tsuge moved out of town to live with his boyfriend, he’d found himself stuck in a cycle of whatever he was in now, before the powers, that was.

Receiving the powers as a virgin of the age of thirty was embarrassing, but only amplified the ever-growing loneliness that was beginning to eat him inside out.

***

Moving back to his dad’s apartment after seven years felt like a rash decision, but as Adachi pulled up his bike outside the building he hadn’t seen in so long, he realised that it was a decision that had been unconsciously been in his mind for a while.

Adachi had always liked the little seaside village his dad lived and worked in, it was peaceful and serene yet still maintained a community feel, that every morning you could leave the house for your neighbour to wave and the baker to smile. Small actions, but both could make the world of difference if Adachi ever wanted to dig himself out of the hole of self-pity that he’d made for himself.

The key was a little rusted, but still worked fine as he swung open the door to be greeted with the wave of nostalgia hitting him square in the chest. The apartment was somewhere in-between bare yet still fully furnished. He remembered at the time, shortly after his dad’s death, coming back to the apartment (it had been left to him) and choosing what he could give away to charity and what could just be left to collect dust. At the time, he’d thought keeping anything in it was a little pointless – he’d had no intentions of coming back anyways.

Now, Adachi thanks his past self for not leaving the place completely bare. It’s lost its signature charm that it used to carry, but still had the same warm coloured walls and the painting of the beach just over the fireplace that young Adachi had loved. The memory shines bright and clear now: fourteen-year-old him, insecure yet still full of hope, telling his father how he’d be able to paint that well one day. Adachi of the present feels his throat tighten, but quickly swallows it.

The kitchen and bathroom look squeaky clean – just the way he left them – all be it with a very fine coat of dust. He learns that the door to the main bedroom still squeaks as well as the floorboard in the hallways between that bedroom and his, and makes it an aim for him to have then fixed by the end of the week.

He can’t avoid his own bedroom forever, no matter how much he’d like to avoid the raw old memories pasted onto the walls – but he’s got to sleep somewhere after all. Sure, he could use the main bedroom, but the large bed would just encourage the loneliness to continue eating away at him – and that’s exactly what he came to avoid. And of course, there’s the sofa, but he slept on one once at Tsuge’s old place, and the back ache he had days after told him: _never again_.

The walls are still the same shade of light brown he remembers having painted, over twenty or so years ago. Crisp sheets line the bed tucked up by the boxy window at the end of the rectangular shaped room, with its curtains still drawn, crumpled up on the window sill. Adachi doesn’t make any move to pull them, and rather mindlessly switches the light on instead.

The light reveals all the posters and drawings which still line the walls, some of them years old, and some of them put up from his last visit before his dad’s death, stuck up haphazardly over his neatly organised desk. Adachi steps a little more into the room, letting his suitcase rest by the doorframe, and turns around to see the shelves of trinkets and drawers of clothes still full to the brim. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to clear out his room when he did the rest of the house.

After a few long minutes of looking around dazed, and finally pulling the curtains, Adachi notices the polaroid camera tucked up against the wall on his bedside table, a little photo tucked under.

He furrows his brow, confused about what he could have taken a picture of that was important enough to leave on his bedside table. Moving the camera to side, he picks up the polaroid, squinting at it and—

Adachi remembers the moment he sees the face again.

The polaroid photo depicts the side angle of a young man, sitting a few metres from where the photo would have been taken from. The expression he wore is low and frustrated, his gaze toward the sea.

The memory of the day is as clear as glass: he’d been out alone, shortly after his dad’s funeral, taking a few photos of the bay, after cleaning out the apartment. By the evening he’d found himself sitting along the steps leading down to the beach. The man had been beside him, rejecting someone’s confession – resulting in whatever girl had asked him out losing her temper (which is what caught Adachi’s attention in the first place) – asking why he always rejected people’s confessions, and how he should ‘at least give them a chance’. She’d stormed away, and Adachi had been too caught up in gazing at the very handsome, it had to be said, young man, and ended up taking a photo of him by accident.

After that, the guy had ended up noticing the accidental photo, and their conversation had come naturally. Adachi hadn’t been able to feel so at ease in years.

_‘Why are you thinking about him? It’s not like he’d live here anymore. It’s been seven years.’_

He slaps his cheeks lightly, a habit which has grown increasingly over the recent years. “It’s not like he’d remember you anyways.” Adachi mutters, finishing his own thought off.

It’s exactly thirty-six minutes of unpacking his very minimally filled suitcase and making sure the apartment looked a little more like someone lives in it until Adachi’s self-control snaps and he finds himself leaving the place with an old backpack slung over his shoulders and the polaroid camera from his bedside table in hand.

He definitely was right about coming to the village to find more peace – the already small population spread over the place sparsely, so Adachi can comfortably walk down the promenade without a worry of others stray thoughts coming unwanted into his mind. For once, the time dwindled away not because of the basic actions he repeated day after day, but rather because he was enjoying spending time, snapping pictures of the evening light across the bay and the sun slowly moving closer and closer to the horizon.

By the end of the evening, Adachi found him tucked up in the corner of the beach side coffee shop. It was no means quiet, but the floor plan was just big enough that he could tuck himself up in a corner, by the window, with very minimal people coming close to him. Half the people in café seemed to be girls, caught up over the barista behind the counter to come close to him, who had made sure he’d sat far across the café from them and their girly giggles. 

Sometimes Adachi would wonder what it was like to be one of those types of people: popular, confident – the complete opposite to himself. He’d thought it would be easier for a while, for everyone to like you, to respect you, look up to you. But after he’d met the man from the polaroid picture, he remembers the way he’d expressed, ‘being liked by people is nice, but there’s always the constant pressure to meet up to everyone’s expectations, and never to take a step back and worry about yourself’. Glancing at the group of girls fawning over whatever guy was stuck working in the coffee shop, he wonders if he feels the same way, as the man he’d spoken to years ago.

The rest of the evening’s time drifted away just as it had while he’d been out taking the photos. It’s only when a soft knock on the table is heard, and drifts his attention away from manga he’s read countless times and his brain registers realises the time that has passed.

“Sorry to say, but the shop is closing, like, now.” The voice is soft, warm.

Adachi bows his head quickly in apology. “No need to apologise, it’s--- it’s my fault, I should have been watching the time, I’ll head of quickly, I---”

He’s about to stand up to head out quickly, avoid the embarrassment he’s already put himself in by stuttering over his words like that, but his plans stop short with a hand on his wrist.

“Woah, it’s okay, yeah? Take the time you need; I didn’t want to pressure you.”

‘ _It’s not him. It can’t be.’_

Adachi jerks a little at the thoughts, but the surprise quickly turns to confusion. He looks up at the man’s face making the direct eye contact he so often dreads facing up to, but when he meets those eyes, all thoughts of worry stop short in his mind.

‘ _It’s been seven years. Pull yourself together.’_

His own thoughts match the man’s. It wouldn’t be. It _couldn’t_ be.

_‘It’s not like he remembers you anyway, if it was actually him. You would be an unimportant drop in the life he’s probably lived since then. But God, does he look just as handsome as before.’_

Adachi wonders how the man would feel if he found out he was thinking in just the same way. Only hours earlier, had he been musing about even if he was to see the man in the photograph, the man who he’d shared the one conversation he hadn’t been able to forget in years, that he wouldn’t remember him. But here he stood, in front of him, and only thanks to Adachi’s new ability, would he find out that the man _did_ \- in fact - remember him.

“Okay.” He finally says, a little breathlessly. “I’ve been a bit pent up lately, I, I guess it shows.”

The man gives him a gentle smile in return, and Adachi’s stomach flips. His smile hasn’t gotten any less blinding, then. Never mind _him_ looking more handsome (which, frankly, Adachi would have to politely disagree with. If anything, his time in the city has aged him, his hair looking increasingly dishevelled, the circles under his eyes more prominent), but the seven years in between seeing him had made him look more handsome than he’d seen ever before. His cheekbones were more defined, matching the slope of his jawline. The little eye crinkles he’d make when he smiled were more obvious than before, but no less unexplainably charming.

_‘I wish I could have been there. I knew I shouldn’t have just left him so soon after his dad’s death.’_

Adachi tenses at his thought, and quickly gets out of the man’s grip to avoid hearing anymore of his thoughts, which could quite honestly result in the emotional tension he’d been carrying since his arrival in the village, snapping, which was bound to not end well.

“I better head off, then.” Adachi says, licking remains of hot chocolate from the corners of his mouth.

The man hums, but quickly stops him again with a hand on his arm again.

“You like Ragna Crimson?” The man enquires, his gaze on the book Adachi had been just about to put back into his backpack.

Adachi blinks. He wonders if he purposely asked the same question than he had on that night, years ago. So, he replies with the same word from then. “Yeah. It’s pretty wicked, huh.”

_‘He couldn’t remember. It wouldn’t make sense. It has to be a coincidence that he replied with the same words as that night.’_

So, the man _did_ ask the same question on purpose.

“I’ve never found anyone who likes it as well.” He laughs a little, the same pretty smile on his face as always. “What underrated series, hm.”

“Isn’t it just.” Adachi nods, his voice trailing off a little.

“I don’t think I’ve read that edition though…” The man says, squinting his eyes a little towards the book cover.

“Ah, this one was out only recently. You can borrow it, i—if you want.” Adachi’s not sure where the small wave of confidence came from, but there’s no backing out now.

‘ _This has got to be a dream. In what world does this sort of luck happen. Not only do a get to read the new edition of Ragna Crimson, but I’ll get to see him again soon, if he can afford to lend his book out like this!’_

“Ah, thank you! If it’s not a bother, then I’ll have it read by tomorrow or the day after. So, if you stop by here then, I can return it.”

Adachi flashes him a lopsided grin. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Their eye contact is held for just a few moments, until Adachi clears his throat, a warm glow rising to his cheeks. He shifts out of the man’s hold once again, placing the book on the table for the other to grab, slinging his bag back over his shoulders. “Well then.”

“Yeah…” The man trails off. “Your name—” He takes an audible breath in. “It’s Adachi, right?”

The mentioned male stops in his tracks, he’d been making slowly towards the door. He hadn’t been certain of the other’s name before, when he was looking at the polaroid, in his bedroom, earlier. But now, once again, it was as clear as glass.

He nods his head shyly, his lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah, it is.” He inhales. He exhales. The metal of the door handle is just inches away. “Well goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.” The other says, his voice soft, almost touching a whisper.

Adachi nods, opening the door, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Goodnight, Kurosawa.”


	2. Chapter 2

Adachi was awake. More specifically, awake because of a certain male who seemingly refused to leave his mind. He’s pretty sure it’s that anyway, the original nostalgia from his return to the apartment have passed, he feels more settled sleeping in his bedroom, and he’s exhausted from the day – so what else could be keeping him awake?

He wondered why Kurosawa remembered him – according to his thoughts that he’d quite shamelessly listened to. Even then, Adachi remembers the way young Kurosawa had oozed the same charisma ana confidence in the way he spoke, and acted. It wasn’t like their small conversations from the night, turning morning, would have made a difference to the very likely eventful life since.

But, looking back, it wasn’t as if their interactions were limited to that one conversation. Adachi had visited the village several times before his dad’s death and he’s just a little embarrassed that he can recall many of the interactions or acknowledgements the two had shared – the brush of their hands when Kurosawa had passed the mug of hot chocolate over the counter, the rather intense eye-contact they’d held over many occasions throughout Adachi’s visits, and then of course their last interaction, the one where—

His thoughts quickly come to a halt.  _You’re meant to be sleeping, not reminiscing over the stupid actions you made in the past._

Adachi wishes he could just sleep and forget about it. But when he finally does, all he sees is the train doors closing and the drying tears on Kurosawa’s face.

***

Adachi knows he’s purposely avoiding going to the coffee shop to collect his manga back off Kurosawa, yet he doesn’t make any effort to work up courage to go there. Instead, he spends the main portion of the day pottering around the house, fixing the squeaky door and creaking floorboard from digging out old tools from the storage room.

But despite not having any work done on the house, for what looked like centuries, there wasn’t limitless imperfections to fix. It’s around four in the afternoon when Adachi puts the screwdriver down and ends up huddled on his bed, wondering how to face Kurosawa, when he can hear the man’s thoughts so clearly, and althoughthey’re not bad thoughts at the moment (all be it a little frightening), Adachi wonders when those thoughts will turn stale and he’ll realise maybe Adachi isn’t the sweet, bright-eyed twenty-year-old from years ago.

A sad sigh escapes his mouth.  _Well, I can’t lay here forever, even if I want to. I can’t make Kurosawa upset by avoiding him again. I can’t be a coward like last time._

His gaze drifts to the box under his bed, haphazardly filled with scraps of paper and old dried out felt-tips. With a huff, Adachi manages to crawl over to the box, dragging it out from its place to peer inside. Initially, a wave of dust hits his face, but next is a wave of the long-buried disappointment he felt with himself. His unrealistic expectations and feeling of failure had once again allowed him for the one thing he felt passionate about slip through his fingers.

Adachi takes a long breath in, trying not to cough at the dust, and swallows. His fingers slowly move through the contents of the box, passing over old discarded drawings and pencils he’d bought while young with a low budget. Old sketchbooks sit at the bottom, in neat little stacks, all dated with the time they were started and completed. His eyes come quickly to an undated book. Its fairly thin, with a matte black cover and when he flicks through it, it appears to be empty, each page blank except a few blotches where a pen must have leaked from who knows where. 

Adachi grabs for his bag (the same one that he had used the day before) and shoved the pad in on whim, along with a few pencils hastily shoved in the front pocket. He slings the bag over his shoulders, and with one last quivering breath out, he leaves for the coffee shop.

***

During his musings last night, Adachi had wondered what he’d be doing now if he’d just chosen to drink his hot chocolate in a different place. Would he have still bumped into Kurosawa? If he had, would Kurosawa tried to start a conversation? Would Adachi have found out that the mentioned male him still remembered their seemingly unimportant interactions?

Tsuge had once told him it was pointless hanging over past actions, because it wasn’t as if he could change anything: time-travel in fact didn’t exist (although after receiving the impossible – being able to read minds – Adachi wondered if time-travel was actually that far-fetched of an idea), so mulling over the past was frankly a waste of time. Adachi’s problem was he continued to have the tendency to over think  _everything_ ,  so not wavering over the past meant having to not over-think, which wasn’t exactly something you could do in an instant.

As he approaches the coffee house though, he remembers what first attracted him to it. The building’s walls were mainly glass, letting in the sunbeams and giving a perfect view for the ocean only metres away. An outside picnic area was decorated daintily with bunting, leading onto the beach itself. Its inside area was sprinkled with golden lightbulbs, and the gentle tinkle of the bell when Adachi pushed pen the door made the place feel homely and welcoming. 

Quickly placing his order, to not catch Kurosawa’s attention quite yet, he finds his seat from yesterday and hurriedly sits down in it. 

_ Calm down. Being nervous is helping no one. _

He slaps his cheeks a little, and after a few moments of fiddling with the straps of his bag, he pulls out the sketchpad and pencil as an attempt to distract himself, but staring at the blank page does nothing but amplify his nerves. His drink arrives, luckily from a female waitress he didn’t recognise from before he left. He mumbles a thanks, keeping his hands locked beneath his legs, and continues to stare at the blank page.

_You never used to be like this. What happened?_ Adachi thinks mournfully. Before he left for the city, he’d felt overall more content with himself and his surroundings. He had little friends: but he enjoyed his own company for the most part. He still lacked self-confidence: but the people he  _did_ know made him feel comfortable and soon enough his major worries left through the window. Then he’d made the grave mistake of talking to the man,  _Kurosawa_ himself, and he’s allowed himself to get his hopes up, but then messed it up mere hours after: as the old anxieties came crashing in, the ones he’d thought he’d managed to leave behind. Maybe it was because of his dad’s death, maybe it was because he was  _just_ a coward at heart. He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if it would ever be completely clear. 

As if by instinct, the hand which had been clutching the pencil starts moving over the page. Adachi finds himself drawing a rather dull beach scene, loosely based off the one he could see through the window, with a figure sitting alone and another walking past, perhaps leaving? He’s not really sure, and he decides he doesn’t need to think about it to much, or until a familiar knock on the table throws him from his focus.

Adachi yelps, and he hears a small chuckle. Narrowing his eyes, he looks up to see none other than Kurosawa beaming with his blinding smile. Maybe he’d have been madder at being scared if it was anyone other than Kurosawa – but when he wears that mischievous smile Adachi can’t find it in him to be mad.

“Is…is it closing time already?” Adachi asks quietly.

_ He’s so cute when he’s surprised, ah, if onl— _

Adachi jolts, and quickly pulls his hand away from where he’d only just noticed their fingertips had been touching.

“Oh no,” Kurosawa answers. “It’s just the end of my shift. I finish earlier on Tuesdays, you see. I just thought…” His voice trails off, as if he’d decided to finish the sentence off in his thoughts. It feels shameless, but, as the power sometimes made Adachi feel, the curiosity gets the better of him, and it’s so easy to just put his hand back on the table and let their fingers brush…

_… how to word that I want to see him, even if it’s just for a few moments, even if he leaves for the city again, it’s been seven years. Maybe it’s silly I kept my hopes up for that long but I can’t just let the opportunity slip away now that it’s been given to me. Not like last time._

“You wanted to see me?” Adachi gulps. His hands quiver gently even as Kurosawa touches the other one to move it across from where it had covered the drawing. He looks up, questioning.

_How did he guess_.

Adachi is not really sure that Kurosawa would be delighted to find out that he’s been listening into his thoughts, so he bites his tongue quickly.

“I haven’t managed to finish the manga yet, but I’ll definitely have it finished by tomorrow. Wait...y ou draw?” Kurosawa asks, ignoring Adachi’s question and instead poses his own.

“Well…not really. I used to, I guess, and I thought maybe I could pick up an old hobby or something. It’s not like I’m any good its just—”

Kurosawa interrupts Adachi quickly. “I’m no artist myself, but I can tell that’s good.” 

_ Why is he so quick to put himself down? _

Adachi lowers his eyes, to the hand on top of his, and quickly wriggles out of the grasp, choosing to sit on his hands once again. “The reason I originally stopped was because I couldn’t find anything to do with it anyway.” He breaths, his cheeks dusted pink ever so slightly.  _Kurosawa doesn’t want to hear the pathetic story on why I chose to give up my dream,_ Adachi tells himself.

But Kurosawa is still there, looking at him in the same gentle way. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Adachi starts, trying to find the right words, to keep it brief, to not express to many of his past emotions out loud. Not yet, anyway. There’s something about Kurosawa, though, that Adachi feels he  could  express all those feelings, and Kurosawa would listen, not judge, just be there. Maybe that’s what kept him on his mind for so many years even with their single conversation. “I couldn’t find anywhere to sell it. Nobody was willing to sell an unknown artist’s work. So…I guess I thought…what was the point? If other people couldn’t enjoy the hours I’d poured into the paintings, then what was the point of making them?”

Kurosawa hums, nodding slowly, as if saying  _‘I understand.’_ He didn’t laugh, he didn’t judge, just nods, although he surprisingly comes out with a: “I know a place.”

Adachi supresses a giggle at the seemingly sudden statement. “What?”

“Oh.” He breaths out a soft chuckle. “I know a place, nearby, where they accept art donations. The woman there, she says how the customers there like seeing new artists share their work, especially when they’re local. Maybe you should check it out.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Kurosawa sounds surprised, but to be fair Adachi too is surprised by his very direct response.

“Yeah.” There’s a slight shake to his voice, but also a bubble of something warm in his stomach.  _Maybe it’s finally time to actually make a change._

***

The art shop, a couple rows behind the coffee house is another friendly, welcoming looking building, it’s outside covered with wooden panels and white lettering for the shop’s name. Adachi learns the woman is who runs the shop’s named Fujisaki, and she appears as nice as a human could get, not too different from Kurosawa in that aspect. She seems delighted when he nervously holds up the sketch of the beach.

“This is fantastic!” She had beamed, clapping her hands together. “Of course, you’ll need some other paintings and such like if we are to put together a proper display for your work, so feel free to come along anytime! We’ll be honoured to host your work in our shop!”

It’s a wonderful outcome, or so Kurosawa puts it, as they walk along the promenade, the sun’s light just peeking out beneath the horizon. Adachi had to agree that he couldn’t have been more pleased at Fujisaki’s reaction. 

The two’s gentle conversation ends when the reach the end of the walk: a short pier just reaching out onto the edge of the sea. Kurosawa breaths out a pleased sigh and leans against the barrier, watching the last slivers of sun beam disappear.

He smiles at Adachi, and Adachi feels for once he gives a genuine smile back. Being in Kurosawa’s presence had been so easy, and he felt at ease, like he had all those years ago. Even with the warm drone of Kurosawa’s thoughts every time they stood a little closer or their knuckles or shoulders brushed, Adachi felt so much more peaceful than he had for his whole seven years in the city, even the six where he’d been without the powers. Maybe it really had been the right decision to come to the village.

“Now we only have to walk all the way back.”

Kurosawa lets out a not so pleased sigh this time. “Maybe we should just spend the night here.” He laughs gently.

“Sleeping on the concrete would be uncomfortable though.”

“True. Ah, if only we could teleport, or something. That would be a great power to have.”

“A much better one than what I got lumped with.” Adachi mutters, under his breath, but apparently not under his breath enough, because Kurosawa turns around from his rest on the barrier to face him.

“Oh? What power do you have then Adachi?” The words are said in a joking manner, but the tone changes instantly when he notices the look on the mentioned face. “Adachi?”

“I…”  _Oh god how did I slip up like this_ , is what’s on Adachi’s mind right now. He let himself get so comfortable that he let something so careless like that slip. He looks up at Kurosawa, but what he sees is a genuine look of concern and curiosity. “I…I can hear people’s thoughts when I touch them.” He murmurs, not daring to look at Kurosawa’s face.

Everything in him tells him to run, get away,  _do what you’re best at and avoid the problem like you always do,_ but the moment he realistically considers the possibility, his heart twinges and he realises that he can’t make the same mistake with Kurosawa again. He couldn’t do that to him.

So, Adachi looks back up at Kurosawa, his face painted with worry, but instead of seeing what he had supposed: judging eyes or the look of _‘_ _like that’s true’_ ,  he sees the same warm-hearted eyes and a look of _‘_ _it’s okay’_.  Was it?

Kurosawa carefully reaches out to touch Adachi’s shoulder.

_ So, you can hear this?  _

Adachi nods miserably. “Yes, I can hear that.”

_ Have you always had these powers then? _

He shakes his head this time. “You know that urban legend about becoming a wizard when you turn thirty and you’re still a virgin. Well. Looks like that’s true.”

Kurosawa looks a little shocked to say the least, but when he removes his hand and gets a glimpse of Adachi’s bowed head and the concerned expression he wore, he quickly finds a tender smile for him.

“Now I wonder what other urban legends are true.” He says, the smile on his face growing slightly larger.

It’s just like that, with the simple comment and Kurosawa’s ever so pretty smile, that he feels a giant weight lifts off his shoulders, like he’s free of some sort of suffocating chain the powers had put him in, keeping him locked away from any sort of human interactions. Or maybe, he thought ever mentioning of his powers would scare off any potential person he could meet. But Kurosawa still stood in front of him, smiling, and once again Adachi feels returning the smile isn’t forced.

“We better set off then, if you don’t want to sleep on the  concrete.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today i bring you chapter two !!!1!1!
> 
> i have to admit i have no idea how art selling works so if i got the entire process wrong plz forgive me hehe
> 
> thanks for the support on the last chapter and i hope you enjoy this one too ;D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3 finally arrives after seven blue moons.
> 
> sorry for the much longer wait for this one,,, but i really hope the chapter can live up to a few expectations at least.
> 
> i hope you'll enjoy :)

They’re avoiding the inevitable conversation. The one about all the thoughts Adachi would have overheard thanks to his power. He’d originally thought telling Kurosawa about his powers would be relieving, and it was, for the most part, but the realisation that he’d have to own up to both current and past feelings in the near future was nerve-wracking to the extreme. When would it be that Kurosawa would throw out the question: ‘what was up with you those years ago?’

But then again, Kurosawa was practically an angel and after learning that he longed for Adachi for a miserable seven years he wouldn’t be so brash to ask such a demanding question. Which was definitely a good thing for Adachi, because he hadn’t the faintest clue how he was going to explain his actions from then. He didn’t even have any logical reasoning that he’d tried to convince _himself_ with, never mind someone else.

He’d spent years on his days off of work wondering why he made that rash, scared decision back then. The same word came back around each time: _cowardly._ But he hadn’t been particularly cowardly when he’d told Kurosawa about his powers, right? He hoped he was changing for the better, but he couldn’t be sure yet.

***

The coffee shop visits happen more frequently than maybe Adachi would have originally expected but he’s not complaining. At first, like the second day, his nerves were sky high but when he realised that Kurosawa was practically the gentlest being in existence, he began looking forward to the time he got to spend with him. And with Kurosawa now with the knowledge of his ability, the time spent around him was a little unexpected at times, but Adachi started really looking forward to each day, and that was something he hadn’t felt in a long long while.

His art is going well too. It was almost like he just needed to get over the first hurdle of starting up his old hobbies again for them to just _click_ ; for him to remember why he originally liked them so much. After the little sketch of the beach, his brain was buzzing with new ideas to put onto canvas, or sketch delicately onto some old overpriced paper he’d discovered in the same box which he’d found the sketchbook in.

Kurosawa seemed more excited about him drawing again than Adachi himself, at some points. He’d always have the most glorious smile on his face when he’d spot Adachi in his usually corner, with a pencil in hand. Sometimes, after shifts, he’d come and sit with him, not talking much, just keeping him company, sometimes letting their feet or elbows brush to let a few sweet bits of encouragement into his thoughts. Adachi sometimes wondered why he didn’t say them out loud, but when he’d glance only merely to the right, he’d see the little group of girls, all smiles and giggles for Kurosawa, and he realised that Kurosawa was _shy_ saying those things out loud. It made Adachi’s heart tingle.

Wednesday mornings quickly became Adachi’s favourite time to come along to the coffee shop. Kurosawa had first suggested coming along in the mornings because of the selection of breakfast only pastries – some of which even _he_ liked (‘I’m really not one for sweet things, but _damn,_ this place’s muffins are nice.’) – so Adachi had been convinced.

Kurosawa definitely hadn’t lied about the muffins, but Adachi liked this particular time of day for other reasons than just the divine selection of breakfast foods. The café was noticeably quieter in the mornings, the usual girls not having arrived yet, and it was peaceful, one of the main things Adachi was beginning to really love about the village. If he got there early enough, he could watch from the other side of the building as the sun crept from behind the buildings. Sometimes, Kurosawa could sneak him in behind the counter to watch privately from the spare room there. Adachi couldn’t help but enjoy this new type of intimacy, little private moments to share with someone else. Moving to the village must have been what he needed after all, the hole of loneliness was slowly being filled back in and not only was Adachi’s head a lot more peaceful, but his entire life felt generally serene. Maybe, he was just verging on the edges of happiness, at last.

***

It was around four weeks since Adachi’s arrival at the village. Unsurprisingly, he found himself at the coffee shop (not in his usual corner though, some old couple had taken the space before he’d arrived. He’d had to resort to sitting in the corner on the other side of the building) with his usual order of hot chocolate in hand.

“How come you always drink that? It’s so sickly.” Kurosawa mused. He was seated opposite of Adachi, a bitter looking coffee in a glass perched on the table in between them, his shift having ended earlier than other days.

Adachi shrugged. “I got used to it, I guess. Besides,” He nods his head towards Kurosawa’s glass, “I never did like that stuff. My old co-workers used to try and get me to drink it, saying I’d get it eventually or something. Still never liked it.”

Kurosawa hums. “Probably didn’t help they were kind of forcing it on you either.”

“True. I guess everyone’s just a bit more forceful in the cities. It’s much more chill here anyways.”

Adachi sighs a little, enjoying the small gap in conversation. After his distinct lack of interactions in the city – not including the obligatory meetings and morning greetings – Adachi was quite frankly not used to talking so much. Not that he minded, it was nice to have someone just to share passing thoughts with. There was a lot of things that Adachi was beginning to discover had Kurosawa shaped holes in, without him even realising.

It’s a few more moments of comfortable silence and a few sips of coffee from Kurosawa until the mentioned male speaks.

“Why did you move to the city?”

Adachi visibly tenses. He knows it’s visible from the expression on Kurosawa’s face, a touch of bitterness changing to concern. Yet, he doesn’t take the question back. Why would he? It’s a perfectly valid question, and shouldn’t be trying to pry into any other answers, but still Adachi _just knew_ the underlying message of the question, as if saying, ‘we’ll have to talk about this eventually’. It’s true, they’d have to talk about _this,_ eventually.

He keeps his ankles firmly hooked around the back of the chair legs. “I…I don’t know.”

It’s a lame answer. Not particularly true either, nonetheless, Kurosawa seems vaguely happy with it, even if Adachi can see the, still, ever so slight bitterness hidden under the smile he’s given.

“I mean—” Adachi feels the need to continue, now that he’s here. “I supposed it might be the safe option. Maybe I thought the jobs would be better or something, or it would take my mind off things, or it was better than staying huddled up in a place like this…” He can tell Kurosawa looks a little taken aback by the last part, so he tries his best to keep going. “Not that a place like this is bad or anything, just—”

“Were the jobs any better?” Kurosawa cuts him from his ramblings.

Adachi chuckles miserably. “No, not really…”

This time the silence between them isn’t so comfortable. Kurosawa does a great job at keeping up his almost perfect persona up for the most part, but Adachi can see the edges of his carefully crafted ‘neutral friendly looking face’ peeling away. Maybe others would be taken aback by that, but for Adachi he feels that it’s a nice reminder that Kurosawa is in fact a _human,_ and his only wish is that he hopes that the other could feel more comfortable around him, not always being the happy, perfect Kurosawa, most people see.

Adachi’s feet come untucked from the back of the chair after a few longer moments of silence, when the softer, more comfortable, atmosphere of the coffee shop comes back. Of course, that has to be the moment where Kurosawa’s foot brushes up against his and for a few split seconds Adachi sees a short presentation of images.

Him, smiling up at Kurosawa, with what looks to be a mug of some kind of tea in hand. Him, behind the shops counter, sleeves rolled up as he carefully cuts a fruit-looking food up. Him, running his hand backwards through his hair, as he adjusts the tightening of his apron.

Kurosawa comes to his senses after the contact of their feet and Adachi’s shocked expression seem to line up in his head.

_Crap, I forgot you could see my thoughts too._

Adachi giggles nervously. “Yeah…uhm…”

_Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, I didn’t—_

“It’s fine! I was just…a bit surprised. That’s all.” He’d be lying if he said he too now had rather vivid images of him and Kurosawa working at some unspecified café together, with Kurosawa behind him, tying up the apron, leaning over from behind him to check on how he’s doing, pressing him up against a—

“I mean I don’t know if you’ve already got a job or anything, but…”

_I saw you looking for jobs the other day, and I guess I thought you could work here._

Adachi goes through a few moments of opening and closing his mouth. It was true that he’d been looking for jobs nearby. After all, someone was going to have to pay the bills for the house and since he didn’t have any particularly strong intentions to go back to the city now that he was here, staying in his dad’s old house and doing his bit for the community seemed to make sense. But Kurosawa offering him a job at the café? Could it be that easy?

“I—I’d love to work here. I mean I visit practically everyday anyways so…I mean if the other workers don’t mind and all…”

“They won’t mind!” Kurosawa is quick to reassure him.

“Well then…”

“Well.”

***

Working with Kurosawa turns out to be both a blessing and a curse.

On the one hand, Adachi loved spending time with Kurosawa. But the on-growing tension between them about the unspoken events of years ago were becoming more and more suffocating. He didn’t want to let go of what he currently had with Kurosawa, because that was more than great, yet the pressure was almost getting too much to bear – a little like the secret of his power had been before.

But Adachi couldn’t hope to work with anyone better. Kurosawa remained the most considerate person in existence: he helped him memorise the numbers on the tables for the service, the intricate details in the desserts and the way the machines tucked away in the kitchen worked. And when Kurosawa’s rather energetic younger co-worker, Rokkaku, explained, how to make some sort of exotic coffee, and then bounced back off to the kitchen (clearly expecting that Adachi’s brain could process nine instructions in one go), Kurosawa could press delicately to his side and project a few images into his head, for Adachi to copy.

Gentle touches became more and more frequent and apparently didn’t go unnoticed. It was only a few days into working at the shop when he overheard a small group of girls, who often frequented the café on weekdays, conversation – speculating on his and Kurosawa’s relationship. 

Adachi too wonders what he and Kurosawa have.

***

“Here.” Adachi feels a gentle prodding at his arm, quick enough to not hear the thoughts of the prod giver, however. He looks up from the manga he had clasped between his hands to met with the blinding smile of none other than Kurosawa.

“I told you didn’t have to do this every day.” Adachi protests, gesturing at the plates in Kurosawa’s hands.

“And I told you I wasn’t going to let you eat microwavable food for rest of your life.” He states. “You may have gotten away with that before, but not anymore!”

Adachi pouts at the (delicious looking) food, but the expression doesn’t last long – the moment the food is in his mouth there’s a long ‘yum’ coming from him and a knowing chuckle from the other.

Kurosawa cooking for him after shifts at the coffee shop has recently become a regular thing, after Adachi had been caught in causal conversation with Rokkaku discussing his rather ‘un-flavourful’, as Kurosawa had put it, eating habits. The moment Adachi had been caught, he had been seated at a makeshift table in the café’s storage room, with Kurosawa delivering freshly cooked food to him only minutes after.

The initial complaints Adachi had given about how Kurosawa didn’t have to waste his evenings cooking for him had fallen on deaf ears, unsurprisingly. The response Kurosawa had given was quite simply: ‘but I’m not wasting my time’. Adachi was pretty confident that the other would have noticed the rosy blush on his cheeks after that line, a colour that his cheeks had increasingly become accustomed to, after a few weeks of spending time with Kurosawa.

And it’s not like Adachi didn’t enjoy eating the food that Kurosawa made – it was quite the opposite. His mouth felt undeserving to the wonderful food that got served, with always Adachi’s preferences in mind.

“Maybe you should teach me how to cook properly,” Adachi suggests shyly. “Then I wouldn’t feel so bad about you cooking for me every day, when you could…”

Kurosawa interrupts him, reassuringly, as he often does when Adachi starts rambling about his worries. “You know I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t mind, just…”

The other hums. “You should learn,” He smiles. “Not because I don’t want this or something, rather you never know – you might find a new hobby or something!”

"I think I have kind of an irrational fear that I’ll set the oven on fire or something.” Adachi mutters.

That confession causes Kurosawa to let a _giggle,_ a rare occurrence that never fails to make Adachi’s heart giddy. “Is that why you stick to the microwave?” He jokes.

Adachi smiles back, laughing a little himself. “Exactly. Microwaves are risk free.”

“Are they? See I heard on the—”

Kurosawa is stopped by an attempt of a glare from Adachi, which just makes him laugh more.

“Don’t ruin my visions of safety with the microwave.” Adachi pouts, but there’s a grin on his face too.

Their conversation changes into comfortable silence, with them both early finishing up the bowls of food quickly making sure the food Kurosawa had poured his effort in isn’t wasted by getting cold.

Said man is the first one to break back through the silence. “You’re not one to take risks, hm?”

It’s a bit of an offhand remark, but Adachi knows he doesn’t mean any harm by it. He can tell by the glitters of genuine curiosity in his eyes. He remembers hearing in Kurosawa’s thoughts, before the other had known about them, about the way he wanted to know more about Adachi, no matter what it was. He knows this doesn’t mean any harm, yet his heart still prickles with the same words rattling in his head, the same ones that had been there since the moment he’d seen the polaroid of Kurosawa again.

Kurosawa, attentive to Adachi as always, is quick to catch on to his discomfort and quickly is apologising. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” He looks mortified at the fact he could have hurt him.

“You’re right though.” Adachi mumbles. Because it is, Adachi prefers the things he’s familiar with, the things where he doesn’t have to worry about messing it up. The situation seven years ago hadn’t exactly been the most usual of things for him, no matter how comfortable he’d felt with Kurosawa. That applied to nowadays too.

“It not a bad thing, to be cautious, you know.” Kurosawa says, his usual reassuring tone in his voice, accompanied by his all too usual smile. “I don’t blame you.”

“But it _is_ a bad thing!” Kurosawa apparently isn’t the only one shocked by the more abrupt statement, he himself is surprised that somewhere his mouth took over his brain to come out with those words.

“Adachi?”

“I-it’s, it’s cowardly, Kurosawa.” He might as well say it how it is.

“Adac—"

“Let me finish. Please.”

Kurosawa seems a little unhappy with the situation, yet closes his mouth anyway.

Adachi isn’t feeling much greater, his hands are shaking from where he keeps them firmly pinned behind his back. _The moment of truth,_ he thinks, the moment in which they should finally address the unspoken. It’s a familiar sick feeling to when he’d blurted out about his powers.

“W-when my dad was ill,” he starts, wanting the time frame to be clear; that they’re talking about _this._ “There was a surgery procedure the doctors suggested. It was risky, but if the surgery went right then it would be lifesaving. So, me and him agreed for them to go ahead with it, but…” Adachi feels his throat close up, a recognisable twinge in the corners of his eyes. He supposed maybe he should’ve talked about this to someone sooner. “He didn’t make it, as I guess you know.”

Kurosawa’s eyes are filled with concern and his hands rest out on the table, as if offering for Adachi to hold them. Adachi keeps his hands tight behind his back. “So, I thought taking anymore risks wouldn’t be worth it in the end. Going to the city was smart, it was safe, there wasn’t anything to go wrong. Whereas here, there was the sketchy job of trying to making a living off my art, there was the loneliness of my dad’s old place, but I barely could scrape myself rent if I went anywhere else in the village. And then, there was you, I didn’t think you deserved me and my problems, I guess.”

The room feels completely still. Deep breaths are dragged in through Adachi’s mouth, a little impressed by the fact that he finally got it out, yet worried for the serious expression on Kurosawa’s face, with his eyes fixed very firmly on a rice grain stuck to the side of one of the empty bowls.

He wonders, terrified, if Kurosawa is angry. Adachi wouldn’t blame him, his excuse for selfish behaviour barely held up in his opinion, so he was confident that the other would feel the same way. Maybe before, he could have reached out, or let their feet touch, but Kurosawa _knows,_ and his arms carefully sit in his lap, with his legs tucked up on the chair.

The other makes no move to speak, as if still processing the information.

“We can’t ignore what happened forever.” Adachi breathes out, eventually.

Those words make Kurosawa look up, and he nods. “We can’t.”

Kurosawa looks as if he’s deciding it’s his turn to speak, so Adachi tries to steady his breaths in the meantime.

“But why? You knew how I felt, I know I shouldn’t have taken things so fast especially seeing the situation you’d just come out of. But Adachi, I just wanted to know if you were okay. Seven years, I got nothing, but I couldn’t get over it. Do you know how worried I was?” The usual smile he wears is wavering.

“I know, and I’m so sorry.”

“Just…” Adachi can see how hard he’d trying not to say anything that could potentially hurt his feelings. He can’t decide if he just wants him to spit whatever he has to say out or not. “…Just why? Why did I hear nothing? If you wanted it just to be a one-time stranger interaction thing, you should have said. Not read my messages without saying anything.”

There are droplets of tears in both of their eyes, Adachi notes.

“I should have. I should have said something.” His voice sounds tight, and he briefly thinks it’s a wonder that not only is he finally speaking about the dreaded 'seven years ago situation', but he could actually speak, with the way his throat felt sealed together and his skin too tight for his body. “I was scared, and I convinced myself that it wasn’t worth it. So, I left, and for seven damn years I told myself that the risks weren’t worth taking, there was no point, you wouldn’t care. I hated myself for being such, such a coward, Kurosawa. Yet, I made no effort to change it, I guess.”

The atmosphere is the opposite to what Adachi’s used to with Kurosawa. It’s the exact reason he avoids these conversations.

“You shouldn't put yourself down so much.” Kurosawa says gently, as if out of what else he could say. Adachi had heard the phrase several times via Kurosawa’s thoughts, yet the other had never said it out loud.

“Well, what else am I meant to say to myself, in that situation.”

Kurosawa apparently has no direct response to that one. So he comes out with another question. “Why didn’t you think that I would care, or mind?" His voice is quiet, and the touches of bitterness Adachi remembers from the one time in café are there too.

“You heard me. I don’t think you deserve me.”

“You don’t think?”

The silence is practically suffocating, and Kurosawa’s eyes are back to being trained on the table, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I should go.” Adachi whispers.

And so he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i feel kinda bad making the wait for this chapter so long for it just to be kinda depressing. welp.
> 
> but kurosawa and adachi finally talked about their feelings (sort of) but i guess you'll have to wait until the next chapter happens for them to get everything straight . i am excited yet stressed for the both of them :l
> 
> heheh anyways thank you soso much for reading,,, i really hoped you enjoyed this chapter :D

**Author's Note:**

> i love this drama an unhealthy amount and after it’s end i felt the need to write something to fill the cherry magic shaped hole in my heart lol
> 
> i’m usually good at having lots of enthusiasm for writing fics at the start but lack commitment for them to finish, but hopefully i’ll update this soon enough because i’ve really been enjoying writing it so far :)
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :D


End file.
